


tiramisu

by sevener



Series: it only gets sweeter [2]
Category: Hockey RPF, Original Work
Genre: (Light) Feminization, Aftercare, Dirty Talk, Frottage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Prank Wars, Talking About It...Sorta, Zach's Emotional Conflict TM
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 22:48:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29143251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevener/pseuds/sevener
Summary: Fuck, could Schofield be any less subtle?
Relationships: OMC/OMC
Series: it only gets sweeter [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2138940
Comments: 34
Kudos: 146





	tiramisu

**Author's Note:**

> (This is a sequel, and may or may not make any sense if you haven't read the first fic in this series; I wouldn't know, but I do recommend them in order!)
> 
> Okay, I don't even know what to say here other than wow, this fic would not exist without the super positive reception Zach and Jamie got on the first go-around!! So thank you! I've really gotten to push myself with trying at sequels, and it's definitely all down to y'all - every kind word, every kudo, but also just knowing that this'll be out there for someone to read and enjoy!! <3
> 
> Content Notes: This is more negotiated than last time, but still not really all that negotiated. General warnings for internal conflict and self kink-shaming, and a bit of negative emotional fallout/sub-drop around the end.

He’s expecting Schofield to try and be all considerate about it.

Like, in the guy’s own words it’d been nothing but a one-off. Something that didn’t merit another thought, much less a repeat. Not that Zach _wanted_ a repeat. The whole thing had been a freak slip up, a glitch in the matrix. One that shed an uncomfortable amount of light on the kinds of things Zach could get off to? Yeah, maybe. That didn’t mean he had to keep getting off on them. He _isn’t_ going to keep getting off on them: his dick works completely fine _without_ anyone calling him names while they touch it, thank you very much. And it’s not like there’s a line of girls waiting around the block to do that shit for him anyway.

Point being, it’d be _easy_ to never think about it again. Really, there’s no reason to even acknowledge it ever happened.

It’s not like he and Schof are great friends or anything. Like sure, Schof had been nice enough after, (surprisingly nice, actually; Zach had found himself wondering why they’d never hung out like that before, and then realized it was probably entirely that they’d only hung out _then_ because Schof thought Zach was having a meltdown over the sex, and it didn’t matter whether that was true or not because they’d never be hanging out like that _again,_ ‘cuz they’d never have sex again, and _that_ whirlwind of thoughts had carried him straight through the hours after Schof left and into a morning of ignoring his texts before leaving for SSFS) but there’s no reason to suddenly act like they _know_ each other now; not like anyone is under the impression that they’re even close. Zach knows Schof about as well any of the other forwards who’ve been in Denver for about a year or two: well enough to invite him to whatever team thing he’s hosting, but not well enough that they can’t just ignore each other after a meaningless impulsive… _mistake_ and have anybody notice.

And yet somehow, that’s not what ends up happening. 

Not somehow, actually, Zach knows exactly how: it’s because Schof is a shameless asshole. Of course Schof doesn’t do him the favour of silently letting it pass, or ignoring him, or even of just acting like a _maybe_ normal person that Zach has once jerked off with; instead, he apparently decides that the most productive use of his time is to annoy the _fuck_ out of Zach at every possible given moment.

“Saundsyyyyy,” he hoots, all up in Zach’s face the first time they see each other again.

Meaning, you know. At _practice._ The actual literal next day.

“Hello to you too Schofield,” Zach forces out, a little off-balance and trying to cover for it with a straight face, rolling his eyes hard before he duck over to his stall and strips quickly out of his jacket, short movements as he gets his racing pulse under control.

“Awwww c’mon,” Schof pouts, already shirtless and taking up way too much of Zach’s personal space, wide, white grin stretching his cheeks. “Don’t be like that. Where’s the love bud?”

“You can go bother EJ if you need some attention Schof,” Zach says, refusing to rise to the bait.

Schof chuckles, low, and slaps Zach’s shoulder companionably, callouses catching at his t-shirt. Zach’s skin crawls under the touch.

“Can you blame me for feeling a little neglected? You’re like the Ice Man over here Saundy.”

He walks away before Zach can get a shot back at him, and Zach sees a couple of the guys smiling in their general direction, laughing like Schof is some kind of comedic genius and not just any guy ever who’s seen Top Gun.

Zach grits his teeth. His cheeks feels suspiciously warm, but the pit of his stomach is cold, tight. A vicious knot.

Fuck, could Schofield be any _less_ subtle?

He makes himself breathe - three deep ones, steady - and carefully let it go. It’s not like it’s _that_ suspicious for Schof to chirp him. Schof chirps literally fucking everybody. It’s only weird if he gets pissed off about it. After some effort, Zach gets his shoulders to drop.

Everything’s fine until he pulls his gloves down from the top shelf, takes two steps forward as he slips them on and stops dead, something foamy and wet erupting with a cool _squelch_ out over his palm.

He pulls his hand out to stare at it, even though he can already tell by the smell: strong enough to make his nose twitch.

“Who the _fuck_ put shaving cream in my gloves!”

The guys’ poker faces are…. not what you’d call great. EJ is already full-on laughing at him, while Brass and Kerfy have their lips thinned, pretending not to be on the verge of doing the same. Josty’s is the absolute worst though; straight up giggling behind his hand and looking over at someone behind Zach, eyes full of mirth, all goddamn _impish_ about it and shit. Zach glances over his shoulder.

Of fucking course it’s Schofield. 

Zach throws a glove at him.

“What are we, twelve?” he shouts as Schof easily dodges the projectile.

“Hey now! No need to resort to violence here bud.” 

Bud. _Bud_. Something about the way Schof’s mouth stretches as he says it makes it sound like what he means is _babe_. 

Or maybe that’s just Zach projecting. Goddammit does he need to stop projecting.

He growls and throws his other glove. It hits Schof square in the face and shaving cream explodes everywhere, the locker room erupting into squawking laughter all around them.

Zach has to admit he feels pretty good about it.

——

Until he can’t find his keys after practice the next week.

He doesn’t say anything at first, a niggling at the back of his mind insisting that he _definitely_ left them in his coat pocket, that he _always_ leaves them in his coat pocket, that Schofield would _know_ he could find them in his coat pocket. He checks the shelf of his stall and scans the floor around it just in case, even leans over to cast a glance into Nikita’s and turns up nothing.

It probably gets pretty obvious by the time he’s down on his knees, craning his head to peer into the small space under the bench in hopes of a glint of silver.

“Looking for something?”

It’s Schof, of course, one eyebrow raised and grinning like a lunatic already. Zach resists the urge to give him a charlie horse, even though his thigh is like, _right_ there _._

“Where the fuck are my keys Schofield.”

Schof’s eyes straight up _twinkle._ He rubs a contemplative hand over his chin like he’s got to think about it.

“Gee, I don’t think I’ve seen them,” he says, all faux-innocent like the conniving bastard he is. “Did you forget where you put them?”

“ _No_ ,” Zach says forcefully, aware that he’s playing right into Schof’s hands but too annoyed to really stop. “I left them in my coat pocket, like I _always do_.”

“Creature of habit, huh?” Schofield hums, still smiling recklessly. “Well, I hope you find them soon. Nice tape ball, by the way.”

“Tape ball?” Zach blinks at him. “I don’t have a…” He trails off, spotting the edge of what he’d taken to be a piece of garbage sitting inconspicuously in his open gear bag. 

Schof has the gall to fucking wink at him.

“Schofield,” Zach says calmly, inhaling in through his nose and out from his mouth. “If my keys are in that tape ball, I’m going to fucking kill you.”

Schof dances backwards out of reach, laughing outright.

“Good luck with that,” he calls, giving Zach an idiotic little salute before turning to corner.

It takes twenty minutes of unwrapping for Zach get his keys back, sticky with tape glue. He leaves the discarded mess in a huge tangle at the back of Schof’s stall, empties his water bottle into Schof’s jock for good measure. If Schofield wants a game, Zach can fucking play.

——

It keeps going like that - stupid pranks that Zach thought he’d seen the last of in juniors; clear tape on the bottom of his skates, his practice jersey doused in cologne, a cup of water under his helmet that Zach doesn’t catch in time.

Zach wakes up one day with his face and hands slathered in toothpaste and what is unfortunately, _definitely_ lube. He gets free breakfast out of Gravy for a week ‘cuz the guy feels so bad about letting Schof into their room.

“I didn’t know what he was going to do, I swear,” Gravy tells him, once Zach is out of the shower, dry and dressed and still smelling faintly of Cool Mint and Cheeky Cherry.

“Just promise me you’ll never let him anywhere your room key again,” Zach says solemnly, slapping Gravy’s shoulder with maybe a touch too much force. “And this one stays between us, eh?” 

Gravy nods hastily.

——

Of course it doesn’t. Schofield took _pictures_.

Zach only finds out a week later when they get dropped in the team group-chat without warning, his own face shiny and smeared and somehow still peaceful in total sleep. At least he gets another five days of free breakfast out of that one.

——

“Why don’t you just get him back?” Kerfy asks, right as he throws out a red shell and knocks Zach off of Maple Treeway.

Zach curses under his breath as he waits to get dropped back into play. It takes several concentration-demanding manoeuvres to put him back up in third before he answers.

“I’ve tried man, believe me. But I don’t want to just get sucked into some stupid tit for tat with him where things just escalate to infinity, y’know? No way he blinks first.”

Kerf nods as he cuts off Koopa Troopa. “Fair. I just don’t think he’s gonna stop unless you ask him to. Least you could do is give him a taste of his own medicine in the meantime.” 

“God, I fucking hope he loses interest before that,” Zach says. Kerf snorts dubiously.

Zach grimaces. “I mean, yeah, he probably won’t, but if I just give in and _ask_ then he still wins.”

“Fuck!” Kerf swears as Zach overtakes him, three seconds before they hit the finish line.

It’s another two rounds before Kerfy brings it up again.

“Look, I’m not gonna pretend to understand whatever weird power-play bullshit you and Schof are engaging in here-”

“ _Hey!_ ” Zach feels the need to protest, even as he gets the terrible feeling that Kerf’s read on the situation isn’t entirely inaccurate.

“ _But_ ,” Kerf continues pointedly, rolling right over him. “If you ever need help pranking him back, you know where I live.”

Zach looks over at him, oddly touched. “Thanks Kerf.”

From the screen, there’s the distinct sound of thunder. Kerf grins with teeth. “Don’t thank me just yet.”

——

Zach has no idea where front office gets the bright idea to room him and Schofield together. He strongly suspects Landeskog has something to do with it, because Landy always ( _always_ ) has something to do with it.

“Hey roomie!” Schof yells in the hotel lobby. Kerf sees his grimace and shoots Zach a sympathetic look. Zach isn’t proud to say that he strongly considers turning right around like he can’t tell that _he’s_ the fated ‘roomie’ in question. He stands still and sighs instead.

“God, what did I do to deserve this?”

“I know right!” Schof bounds over and hooks an arm around the back of Zach’s neck, dragging him close. “You must’ve been a saint in your past life or something.”

That’s pretty much the moment that Schof seals his fate.

——

“Ground rules,” Zach says to him in the elevator, once Schof has finally let him go. “No pranks while we’re rooming together. I mean it Schof. I know you’re having your fun and stuff but I need my living space to be off-limits, okay?”

Schof’s face goes all stoic and serious, just like Zach knew it would. 

“Of course Saunders. I can respect that,” he says, face all earnest like Zach has just entrusted him with something infinitely precious. “You know you can just say the word and I’ll back off. Completely.”

Zach nods, once, and pinches his lips between his teeth, turning his face away so he doesn’t laugh. It’s maybe a little wrong to take advantage of Schof like this when he _knows_ the guy has a thing about boundaries, and, like, he _does_ feel pretty bad about it.

Just not bad enough not to go through with it.

“Did anyone see you?” Kerf asks, accepting the duffel that Zach hands him with a hunted look. Zach rolls his eyes.

“Nobody saw me, Mr. Mission Impossible, but I’m glad to see you’re not taking this too seriously.”

“Whatever bro,” Kerf says, throwing the bag in the general direction of his closet. “You think I’m doing this for your enjoyment? Fuck that. I can’t wait to get the _Prank Master in Chief_ on video begging me for his shit back. On the most classic roadie prank in the book.”

Zach squints. “Does he really call himself that?”

“Yeah dude, guy’s cocky as fuck about this shit,” Kerf informs him, tone strongly implying how offended he is by this. “Which is like bullshit ‘cuz he basically only ever gets you these days.”

Zach blinks. He knew Schof had been targeting him specifically for the last little while, but he’d assumed that he’d just been added on to the roster of viable victims ever since they’d gotten…uh. Better acquainted.

The thought that Schof has been going out of his way to piss Zach off in particular rids him of any last reservations he’d had about doing this.

“Send me that video when you get it man,” Zach grins sharply, and heads back to his room to wait.

——

It doesn’t take long. 

Less than an hour later Schof gets back from dinner with Compher and Gravy, kicking off his shoes and dumping his coat into the spare armchair. There’s just the _slightest_ hesitation when he walks past the empty foot of his bed, just enough to give away that he’s noticed. 

Zach presses his lips together tightly, not laughing, determinedly looking back down at his phone.

Schof doesn’t mention that his bag is no longer where he’d left it before heading out.

“How’s your night so far Saunders?” His tone is forcibly casual, Schof’s attention focused down the length of his shirt as he carefully unbuttons it. “Still got that headache?”

It’d been his excuse for begging off dinner earlier so that he could snatch Schof’s bag. Zach clears his throat to make sure his voice comes out steady when he speaks, swallowing back a giggle.

“Feeling better now, thanks. You turning in?” 

He makes the question just as casual, eyes probably a little _too_ innocently wide in his face, but what can you do. 

Schof’s expression, for his part, is hovering just to the left blankness, the corner of his mouth twitching minutely with repressed emotion. The empty spot at the foot of the bed is practically glowing with the way they both carefully aren’t looking at it. Waiting to see who’ll break first.

“I can turn off the TV if you wanna sleep,” Zach offers calmly.

“You know, I actually _was_ going to turn in,” Schof hedges, just as cooly. 

Zach meets Schof’s gaze head-on, raising an eyebrow like he couldn’t be more incredibly interested in what Schof might say next.

Schofield smiles placidly. “But now I’m thinking I’m just a little too keyed up to sleep just yet.” 

He shrugs, turning to the closet behind him, sliding back the mirrored door to pull something out of the farthest tucked back corner.

When he turns back around he’s holding a suitcase. 

He’s holding _his_ suitcase. 

The one Zach had _just_ handed over to Kerf, not even an hour ago.

Zach makes an involuntary choking noise, coughing to cover it. Schof looks up at him placidly.

“Problem?”

_Yeah_ , there’s a fucking problem. Zach stares uncomprehendingly at the black duffel Schof is unzipping serenely. It can’t be. Kerf wouldn’t betray him like this… would he?

Zach unlocks his phone and pulls up Kerfy’s contact. _do u still have the bag?_

Across the room Schof is stripping out of his jeans, pulling on a pair of sweat shorts that he unearths from _his goddamn fucking bag_.

Zach looks down at his phone to see a picture of that _same_ duffel, blurry in the back of Kerf’s closet down the hall. _??? ya why_

Zach glances back up across the room suspiciously. It’s not just toiletries and sleepwear in there: Schof is pulling his goddamn laptop out of the back inner pocket. There’s no way that Schof bought a second computer just so he could have a spare bag in his room, which means he must have… must have fucking _planned this_. Must have somehow _known_ that Zach was going to steal his bag!

Zach swipes back over to his messages. _schofield is literally unpacking his bag right in front of me_

Kerf’s response buzzes through a second later.

_WHAT_

_HOW_

_ITS RIGHT HERE_

_IDK,_ Zach types. _check whats in the bag you have_

Zach looks up again when Schofield comes out of the bathroom shirtless, his hair a little damp at the ends like he’s run wet fingers through it. He’s casually _not_ looking in Zach’s direction whatsoever, avoiding his eyes like he can tell how much it’s pissing Zach off.

_He’s_ not going to be the first one to acknowledge it, even if he’s _dying_ to know whether Kerf turned on him. Was this their plan from the start? To have Kerf recruit Zach to prank Schofield, just so they could prank _him_ together? Goddammit! These three-dimensional mind-games are the exact kind of bullshit that Zach wanted to avoid out of this to begin with!

_jesus christ,_ Kerf texts him back. Zach squints down at the blurry picture on his phone.

_its full of pictures of u_

_covered in shaving cream_

_…_

_and lube_

Another picture comes through. This is one is a lot clearer.

_HOW DID HE GET MY JOCK,_ Kerfy wants to know, holding up the ruined thing.

Well. 

Fuck.

Either Kerfy sacrificed his own gear to look innocent, or Schofield actually _is_ that good. Schof _can’t_ be that good. Zach doesn’t want him to be that good, but he also doesn’t want Kerfy to have double-crossed him.

Zach looks over at the other bed.

Schof has his laptop cracked open, balanced across his lap. The cool blue glow of the screen is playing harsh over the sedate lines of his face, lighting the tiniest upward tick at the corner of his mouth. He turns to Zach when he notices him looking.

“All good Saunders?”

Zach grinds his teeth. “Fine.”

Schof _definitely_ knows that Zach knows. He knows and he planned it. It doesn’t matter whether or not Kerfy was involved - not right now. Right now, Zach’s not going to give Schof the goddamn satisfaction. He’s just going to sit here, _silently_ , and plot out his untimely death. In detail. Ignore Schof shifting around and fiddling with his laptop on the other bed.

“Hey” Schof says, offhanded. “Think I’m gonna watch some porn. You want in?”

Zach’s mouth drops open before he can stop it.

“You just look a little tense, is all.”

Zach stares at him. Schofield waits, this look on his face like _Well?_

Zach’s gonna cover this guy head to toe in shaving cream the second he falls asleep.

“ _No_ ,” he grits out. “ _No I don’t want to watch porn with you._ ”

Schof tilts his head dubiously, like he strongly doubts that, before shrugging. “Suit yourself.” 

He hits the space bar on his keyboard. A high-pitched moan starts up instantly from the laptop, followed quickly by the lewd slap of skin on skin, and then the two mixed in together. The moaning gets steadily louder. Schof’s palm rubs absently at the bare skin of his stomach, just grazing the line of his sweatpants, his abs standing out with the way he’s curled up against the headboard.

“What the fuck,” Zach whispers faintly, mostly to himself. He’s entirely certain that Schofield would have nothing helpful to add to the conversation if asked. “What the fuck dude,” louder, “turn that off.”

Schof’s grin sharpens - half-lid eyes and white teeth. His stupid hair is falling into his stupid face, loose with no product to hold it back against gravity. “What’s the matter Saunders? You know hair won’t _actually_ grow on your palms. That’s just an old wives’ tale.”

Zach makes an aggrieved noise. “I’ll seriously kill you if you move to pull your dick out right now.”

Schof laughs. He still hasn’t paused the video. Zach can’t see much more than vague fleshy shapes moving around at this angle, but he has absolutely _no_ problem hearing what the actors are moaning on screen, a woman’s voice whimpering _Yes, oh yes, harder, right there, right there, oh!_ and a man grunting back _Yeah, yeah you love my cock, ah._ Zach is aware that his cheeks are burning hot now, entirely against his will.

“Bet you kinda want to though,” Schof needles, dropping his voice, rolling his head back on the headboard to look at Zach. “Just a little bit, right? Get a hand down and touch yourself. S’nothing to be embarrassed about, I know I wouldn’t mind.”

The tiny hot spark that twists at his stomach just pisses Zach off _more;_ that Schof can get to him so easily. That the sandpaper grit of that voice still rubs him just the right way, even though Zach _knows better_. Knows how thoroughly this could wreck him, to keep crawling back for it, rolling belly up, exposed, pulling at all the threads that’ll eventually shake him loose - make it come all crashing down on him: that he fucking _liked it_ , that he _loved_ it, still jerks off thinking about it; Schof pressed against him from shoulder to knee, strong hands on him, devastating voice spitting filth in his ear. It’ll stamp it official: Zach Saunders gets off on being called pretty like a girl.

“Fuck off,” he says, tight, and rolls up off the bed to get his headphones from his bag. Schofield can do whatever he wants - including jerking off five feet away from him in their shared hotel room, apparently - Zach’s going to sleep.

Of course Schof stands too. Gets in his way.

“Hey,” he says, careful and close, one hand raised like he might touch it to Zach’s face. His eyes flick over attentively instead. “Zach, I’m not making fun of you.”

“Bullshit.” Zach’s voice comes out gratifyingly steady. “Now move.”

“Come on babe,” Schof doesn’t move. His voice is doing that stupid gentle tilting thing that makes Zach’s skin want to crawl uncontrollably. “I wouldn’t do that.”

And suddenly Zach finds his anger again.

“Oh yeah? _Babe_ ,” he steps right up into Schof’s space, one hand pushing accusingly at his chest. “You wouldn’t do that? That’s all you _have_ done. You’ve been pulling my pigtails ever since…” His throat tries to close up. Zach forcefully doesn’t let it, burning. “Ever since you’ve figured out how to get a rise out of me, that’s all you’ve wanted to do.”

He’s pressing closer with every word, driving Schof backwards down the narrow space between their beds, trying to get out. Schof’s hand closes over his wrist at some point in there, not pushing him back, but just holding. 

There’s a beat of silence where it’s just Zach’s breathing in the room, harsh, Schof’s laptop gone still and silent with the lid closed, _finally_ , and then Schof says, still low, still too gentle, “That’s not _all_ I wanted… _”_ and Zach growls and trips him backwards.

Schof doesn’t let go of him on his way down, which Zach is expecting. He makes sure to drive the breath out of him as he lands, palm flat on Schof’s chest, the other pinning his shoulder. Schof looks dazed. Zach leans up over him.

“Is _this_ what you wanted?” He gets his hands around Schof’s wrists, circles like shackles, and shakes them pointedly. “You keep pushing and pushing and pissing me off. You want my attention? You’ve fucking got it. But if you think for _one second_ I’m gonna roll over because of what we did-”

Schof’s wrists flex up against his grip like he’s trying to reach for him. “Zach,” he says.

“No. Stay down,” Zach pushes. He can feel the strangely fragile bones of Schof’s wrists between his fingers. “Fuck you.”

“Zach,” Schof says again, simple. Pleading. “I can’t think about anything else.”

Zach falls still, just staring at him. Schof doesn’t look away. He doesn’t miss a beat.

“I _know_ this is way out of line. You say the word, and I swear I’ll never ask again, but if you _want_ , Zach, if you want, I promise I can make it good. I promise I’ll make it the best damn thing you’ve ever had, fuck, if you just let me. Let me please be the one to give it to you. Please. I can’t stop thinking about it. Getting my hands all over you, getting you there. Fuck, I want it again.”

Zach blinks.

Schof stares unflinchingly back at him, like there’s nothing for it, no hiding the raw want burning too bright at the backs of his eyes. All of a sudden the way Zach has him pressed into the hotel carpet doesn’t feel so simple after all.

His fists tighten around Schof’s wrists, knees cinching in a bracket around Schof’s hips, digging down against muscle and bone. He tightens all over, really, as the heat of it races up his spine: Schof underneath him like this, big and broad and hot and so fucking annoying, begging for it — _needing it,_ with a stupid little smile stretching his stupid smug face. Like he thinks he just won something.

Zach leans down and bites at him.

Schof surges up to meet him with a gratifying intensity, returning the kiss eagerly, recklessly. Zach makes a pleased noise about it and pins him harder when it seems like Schof’s hands might want to come up, like he thinks he can get one back over Zach while he isn’t looking.

Zach uses his teeth to disabuse him of the notion.

“Stay,” he growls in between brutal, biting kisses. “Just. Take this.”

He can feel Schof’s rumbling laugh against his lips the next time he moves to reclaim them. It fans the banked coals of anger still nursing in his chest, sends a zip of annoyance through him that clashes with the lust rising hard in his throat.

“So fucking annoying,” Zach grits, releasing Schof to run rough hands over his sides, feeling the hard coiled muscles there moving with quickened breath. He digs his fingertips in harder, the thumb of his left hand catching roughly at a nipple.

Schof exhales against it in a sudden rush.

“Yeah?” Zach raises an eyebrow at him, grin razor-sharp. “Don’t just like that when you’re playing with _my_ _tits_ , do you? You’re good for it either way.”

Schof groans and shifts his hips underneath Zach’s weight, big hands coming up to grip at his hips, palms hot. His fingers dig in when Zach pinches down and twists, savage.

“Fuck yes,” Schof pants, head tilted back, the thick, appalling length of him put on display. “Just like that. Give it to me hard baby.”

Zach snorts despite himself, feels it everywhere when Schof cracks a pleased grin in response.

“Thought you liked my dirty talk.”

“Come on, that one was pretty contrived even for you.” Zach is flushed through, feeling like he’s just given something away. “And I don’t like it,” he adds quickly.

Schof raises an eyebrow pointedly. His cheeks are ruddy too.

“I don’t like it _that_ much.” 

He only knows as he says it that it’s to see Schof grin even wider. Sweeter.

Just so he can lean down after and taste it.

Mint, and the unspecific fruit flavour of the Scandinavian electrolyte drinks Schof gets sent by the case-full, the ones he posts in carefully pre-arranged pictures to instagram, smiling and sweaty with the small cans practically crushed in his grip. He must have had one after dinner. It feels like a little secret that only Zach gets to know: what the inside of Schof’s mouth tastes like. It feels like he never wants to break or come up for air - not with Schof’s tongue in his mouth and his hands greedy at Zach’s ribs.

He slides his own hands from Schof’s chest up to his shoulders, pinning him again - though it hardly feels like it with the way Schof is holding him, the barely contained strength of him bucking and straining up towards Zach, one hand sliding up to fist at the back of his hair and keep Zach still as Schof presses further into his mouth, tongue sweeping crudely over the backs of his teeth.

It goes straight to Zach’s dick.

He doesn’t do anything to contain his next groan, high and twisting, unsure how else he’s supposed to bring Schof’s attention to his cock, trapped and filling now between them. Then he remembers that he can do it himself - that this is his damn show to run.

He moves to get a hand on himself and gets stopped in his tracks by Schof’s hard grip on his wrist. Zach blinks his eyes open, breaking the kiss to stare down in disbelief as he tries to pull his hand free. Schof doesn’t let go. His thumb strokes softly over Zach’s wrist. 

_Let me_ , his eyes say.

“You just can’t help yourself, can you?” Zach pants in stymied frustration, pressing their foreheads together. His chest feels tight, caught on the precipice. Aware of the fall.

Schof’s mouth turns soft, brushing just at the corner of Zach’s lips, down over his cheeks and jaw. Gently, he guides Zach’s hand back down to the carpet.

“Not sure I can,” he hears Schof murmur, almost wonderingly, right into the hinge of Zach’s jaw as he kisses him. “Not sure I wanna help myself, baby, not when it comes to you. Please don’t make me.”

It’s the first small bubbles before a pot starts to boil - simmering heat crawling up Zach’s spine, suffusing out under his skin, and even more when Schof’s hands trail confidently down over his back, his ribs, to land in a claiming grip over his ass.

“Know you can do it like this,” Schof says, rough, dark eyes gone down to slits as he gazes up at Zach, head pressed back against the carpet. “Just like this, sweetheart,” before he guides Zach’s hips to fuck down hard into the smooth give of his stomach.

And it’s what he _wants_ , is the thing. Zach wants to do it: can barely look away from the outline of his own dick through his sweats, pushing up against Schof’s heated skin, the fabric thin and just rough enough to make him gasp when he pushes forward into the thrust.

“There you go darling. Fuck, look at you.” Schof unlocks one hand from the vicegrip he has on Zach’s waist, raises it to cup at his jaw, wide thumb sliding over the sharp line of a cheekbone. Zach’s pretty sure his mouth his open and he’s panting unattractively, trying to wrestle some control back, even as his gut keeps clenching every time his cockhead catches at the ridge of Schof’s abs. Schof just keeps staring up at him, black-eyed, and his hand slides slowly back to twist in a grip at Zach’s hair.

Zach doesn’t even pretend to resist when Schof drags him forward.

He figures it’s fine to move his hands while Schof’s distracted, especially because he doesn’t manage to do much of anything with them other than clutch at Schof’s neck and jaw as they make out. He’s pretty sure he’s whining now - can hear it distantly. All the hunger built at the back of his throat heating like a supernova, scattering out of him on a high moan. Mewling like that fucking porn star. Schof’s grip doesn’t give an inch though: the hand that he doesn’t have locked in Zach’s hair is locked on Zach’s ass, encouraging him to keep grinding himself in small motions, growing increasingly frantic and uncontrolled. Zach can feel his knees chafing from the carpet.

“Hmmm.”

Schof hasn’t tried to buck or thrust or flip them over - is just lying back, barely steering as Zach fucks in against him, small tremors running through him every time Zach’s weight rocks back towards his dick. But of course that doesn’t mean he’s going to keep his mouth shut for long. 

“Keep going like that baby, so fucking good. Keep riding me.”

Zach can’t catch his breath to speak. Familiar heat is pulling at him, hazing over the edges of his mind, and he tries to give in to it but it’s so much harder like this: with Schof looking right at him. Looking at him while he says it— _baby, sweetheart, darling, keep going,_ and Zach feels the heat sliding away from him, ebbing like a fast tide before he can reach out to hold on. He tries to aim a glare in Schof’s direction to cover for the loss, but Schof chooses that exact moment to suddenly firm his grip on Zach’s ass and pull him in _tight,_ three hard demanding thrusts, and they both come away from it gasping.

“ _Shit_ ,” Schof bites out, gentling them back down to pace. Like he doesn’t want this to be over yet. “Couldn’t help myself babe. You get me so fucking hard. Love when you grind on me.”

Zach tucks his face down against the curve of Schof’s throat to get away, feeling shaky and split open. He wants the drowning heat. Doesn’t want to think about why. Schof’s hand has gone gentle in his hair, stroking.

“Yeah?” Zach asks into the skin of Schof’s chest, hoping he sounds choked with lust instead of just pleading.

“Yeah,” Schof husks back, just barely keeping up the grind now, everything close and tight and spine-meltingly slow. Zach feels pretty close to the edge, and miles away from it.

Schof’s hand trails down his neck to his back, smoothing over the side of his ribs and petting down over the bunched muscle of his thigh. “Love having you pressed up against me,” he groans quietly. “Wanting me. Been thinking about getting to feel it again, feel this body -” Fingers skim across Zach’s side, down over his hips and back, down to where the thick core of his stomach is crunched up with the effort of keeping a steady pace with his hips. Zach tries not to shake much under the touch. “Fuck, sweetheart, your _body_. So gorgeous. Still can’t believe I get to have you like this.”

Easy, this way, to let the heat race up through him: with his face tucked down under Schof’s chin, the salt-sharp scent of him all around, in the taste of his skin under Zach’s tongue. Small things to focus on, while he lets the words wash over him like warm water. There’s no reason like this for Zach’s mind to want to push back against them: to try and reassert reality. It doesn’t matter that Zach has a body made to take hits and throw them back. Right now, he just wants the things Schof will say to him - wants how they make him curl up and shudder.

“Yes baby,” Schof’s voice hot in his ear. Fists balled up against the scratchy carpet, forehead pressing into Schof’s chest, gasping. Zach rolls his hips up harder. “ _Yeah_. Keep making yourself feel good, just like that. Fuck, I can feel you getting all wet, riding on me. Come on darling, let me see you.”

Schof’s hands guide him to sit up. His cheeks are burning. There’s a dark patch, crude and obvious, at the front of his grey sweatpants. Zach can’t meet Schof’s eyes, but he has to: has to see how Schof is looking at him, raw and hot and molten at the core.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Schof reaches out and presses his thumb to the dampness, touches Zach’s cock through the fabric. Another small whine claws out.

“Is that for me, baby?”

Zach doesn’t know what to _do_. Feels slow and stupid and prickly as he stares back at Schof with his mouth open, breathing hard: choking and defenceless. Schof has him stripped wide open. Of course it’s for him. He did this.

Zach flinches, chin ducking, but Schof is already reaching out for him - catching him. Two hands land on either side of Zach’s face, holding him, guiding him back down to Schof’s mouth, and Schof gives him one kiss. Two. Small things, breaks for air in between. A thumb strokes down along his cheek. Schof tilts his head, nosing at him. The next one draws out, long and tender.

Zach’s fingers are claws in the carpet. There’s a hand on his bare waist, thumb rubbing at the taut skin of his stomach. It feels infinitely careful when Schof’s hand nudges in between them, the backs of his knuckles skimming down Zach’s sternum to the loose waistband of his pants, sliding underneath. Schof takes him instantly in a confident grip, _claiming_ , thumb soothing over the sensitive head in a motion that makes Zach curl up and shake.

“So sweet for me baby,” Schof kisses him again. His hand drags down once, tight, before coming back up to clamp at the head. Zach gasps and keens right up against his mouth. He feels mindless - fucked out.

Schof just keeps kissing at him, stroking him - long, slow, _tight_ passes of his hand, vicious and careful, time drawing out like stretched candy in between, until Zach feels about ready to beg him for it. The _please_ stays locked up behind his teeth though, just this one last thing he can hold on to like it matters: Schof’s the one underneath him, Schof’s the one asking please. _Oh, sweetheart, you gonna give it up for me? Fuck, so pretty when you’re gonna come, so perfect babe, want you to feel good._ Please, please, please.

Zach fucks weakly into his hand and shakes and he comes, so hard it almost hurts, starburst light when he shuts his eyes, mouth hanging open. Schof keeps jerking him, _tight_ , and Zach whines, bucks up against him and comes _again_ , it feels like, dazzling hot like sunlight refracting across water, glinting over small waves. Everything comes spilling up out of him. He doesn’t know how to stop.

Zach puts his head down against Schof’s chest with it still buzzing in his fingers, tingly and half-numb at the same time. Breathing hard. Everything is sticky and slippery and wet in between them, Zach panting with his pants full of come again, and there’s a needle-prick of shame at that, trying to crawl up the back of his neck even through the thick haze of his satisfaction. He wishes, for the first time tonight, that they’d done this is in a bed - doesn’t want to figure out how to get up. Schof is lying unconcerned underneath him, one hand playing gently through his hair, quiet and steady.

Long seconds draw out. Zach’s heart pounds faintly against his ribs, loud in his head. Finally Schof shifts his grip and blows out a breath.

“Okay, up we get.”

He gets one arm around Zach’s back and sits up with him still cradled to his chest. Dazed and suddenly upright, Zach then gets pushed gently back to sit on his knees, watching as Schof manoeuvres himself out and up, pulling Zach to his feet a second later. His knees don’t fold like wet paper, but he’s not exactly steady, either. He feels unreasonably worn out for what they just did. Doesn’t manage a protest before Schof is already pushing him to lie gently down against his bed.

“Good,” he murmurs, eyes calmly serious as they trace over Zach’s neck and chest, down and then up to his eyes. “Can I get these off?”

One thumb taps at the waist of Zach’s ruined sweatpants, and Zach swallows. Hates, suddenly how Schof is looking at him, barely touching him. How he can see the bulge of Schof’s dick still hard in his pants. Schof doesn’t look like he cares. He’s watching Zach’s face.

“I can do it,” Zach manages, voice surprisingly rough in his throat. He clears it. “Um. Get me a washcloth?”

Schof nods and hops up, turning for the bathroom, freeing Zach from his scrutiny for precious few moments. Zach’s limbs feel slow and heavy when he moves, but he manages to get far enough over the edge of the bed to reach his bag on the far side, fishing blindly until he comes back with a pair of clean boxers. He changes as he quick as he can, awkwardly accepting the damp cloth that Schof hands him when he finally gets back, wiping at the tacky patches on his stomach and whatever he can reach when he lifts up the waistband. Schof watches silently, perched on the edge of the bed. It’s pretty fucking weird.

“Um, thanks,” Zach says, sitting up to chuck the washcloth through the cracked door of the bathroom. It hits the tile with a wet splat. Zach has no idea what he was going to say next; his mind goes totally blank when his eyes catch on Schof’s lap.

Schof isn’t hard. Zach stares at where his dick should be pressed up against the seam of his sweats, straining noticeably like it had been not two minutes before. Where it’s _not_ anymore. Zach’s gaze flicks up to Schof’s face, then skitters away quickly. He has no idea what to think. His face feels vaguely too hot. His fingers too cold.

“Zach,” Schof says, moving closer up the bed. Zach looks up at him: lost. Unsure what it is they’re doing here.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Schof’s frown creases, then smooths out quickly. His hand reaches out and touches Zach, strokes hypnotically up and down his bare arm. He folds down and spreads out on the free side of Zach’s bed. 

“Lay down with me.”

Zach lays down. Schof’s head rests on the other pillow. Watching him carefully. One hand trails from Zach’s cheek, down his shoulder all the way to his wrist. It feels like something that should leave a mark: warm fingers burning trails across his cold skin.

“Can I come closer?”

Schof’s hand keeps touching him gently, his expression open and relaxed, waiting. Zach takes a deep breath that feels like it comes from miles down.

“Sure,” he says. “If you want.”

“I do want,” Schof tells him, proves it by wrapping Zach up firmly in his arms, gathering him in, tucking Zach’s chin down into his chest. It’s almost too much for a second; pulled in too close, Schof’s hands on him, everywhere. But the room stays silent around them, and Zach closes his eyes. The race of his heartbeat starts and then slows, bringing his body down with it. Zach’s muscles relax and unlock one by one.

Schof’s hand drags in a gentle stroke over his back, up and down, over and over. It feels nice. Zach gives in to it further, drifting, feeling like he could probably fall asleep here, which only sucks because he hasn’t brushed his teeth yet. He has no idea how he’s going to work up the will to move.

Schof’s hand brushes up to card through his hair, gentle nails against his scalp.

“How are you feeling?” Schof asks, and Zach says, “Did you jerk off alone in the bathroom?”

Schof’s hand stops.

And Zach’s stomach plummets into the ground, because _that_ \- Schof’s _good_ at not reacting. His body seems almost a separate thing from his brain, sometimes, perfectly under control. 

And he _froze_.

And then Zach’s skin crawls, vaguely nauseous, because why does he _care_. So Schof went and finished himself off in privacy; isn’t that _good_? Zach only asked to see the first time out of some twisted sense of curiosity, maybe even just to see if Schof _would_ , just whip his dick out because Zach told him to. Asked him to. Whatever. It doesn’t explain what’s happening _now;_ why Zach even felt the need to ask. (Why he was already regretting having an answer.)

“Is that…” Schof pulls back to look at his face, hands still framing Zach’s neck, his shoulders. “Hey, Zach, can you look at me?”

Zach’s eyes get stuck somewhere around Schof’s chin.

“Sorry,” he shakes his head. “Sorry. I don’t even know why I said that.”

“Zach,” Schof says, gently. Zach wishes he could rewind the last thirty seconds. Get a do-over and shove a sock in his mouth.

“Fuck, that was super weird,” he laughs unsteadily, trying to brush it off as he starts to squirm backwards out of Schof’s grip.

“ _Zach_ ,” Schof says again. The worst part is that he’ll just keep going like that - not pushing, just offering. He lets Zach go.

“Forget it, okay? It was just… nothing. Stupid. Let’s go to sleep.”

He gets out of the bed and stomps off to the bathroom, sticks his whole face under the tap in the hopes that the cold water might shock away some of the fuzziness, whatever the hell came over him that made him ask _that_ instead of just pretending to fall asleep and sneaking away after like a normal person. Schof doesn’t follow him in even though the door is cracked. Zach gets through all of his bedtime niceties without so much as a peep from the other room, and dread slowly starts to overtake humiliation for top spot in the tight knot of his chest.

Schof is back in his own bed when Zach steps out, considerately scrolling through his phone instead of forcing Zach to endure the weight of his gaze. Zach crosses quickly to his own bed and ducks under the covers, curling up on his side against the chill. He can’t bring himself to turn his back to Schof, watching him from under his eyelashes instead.

Considerate. Probably not the first word anyone would reach for to describe Jamie Schofield. Schof is brash and arrogant and competitive as all fuck. Can even be a little mean, sometimes. But then, when it matters - and Zach is slowly realizing that this, this _matters_ to Schof - well then he can be so considerate it almost hurts. So considerate it puts Zach to shame.

“Schofy,” he says, half muffled into the covers. Schof looks over at him instantly. “Come here?”

Schof rolls up out of bed and pads over without saying a word, hesitating slightly until Zach rolls to lift up the covers on the empty side, letting Schof slide in and turning to curl right up against him. Zach’s head lands on Schof’s chest, and Schof’s hand slides right back into his hair. Easy.

Too easy. Another piece chipped off, another thread pulled loose: how easily they fit in against each other, how easy Schof’s hands feel on him, how good it feels to give over to them. That’s the most terrifying part of all of this: not just that he keeps losing his grip, but the constant, nagging sense that whatever he’s trying to hold on to isn’t something he actually wants _back_. His only comfort now is how hard the rest of it is - the tangle of shame and guilt and anger almost reassuring, afterwards, proof that there _is_ something wrong here, that he shouldn’t lose the impulse that tells him to keep fighting it.

“I can see you thinking too hard up here,” Schof’s thumb smooths over his forehead, down over his eyebrow. “Doesn’t look fun.”

Zach snorts, a little _whuff_ of air. “Like you’d know.”

“ _Ouch,_ ” Schof tugs a bit at the ends of his hair. “Rude.”

Zach rubs his face against Schof’s chest and shrugs, “Yeah, well.”

That hangs out there between them, and in the small silence that follows Zach somehow finds his courage - or, more accurately, is overcome by a reckless sort of fatalism that makes him finally spit it out.

“I don’t know why it bothered me.”

Unlike last time, Schof doesn’t freeze up. His hand continues its slow path over the back of Zach’s head, down his spine to the low point between his shoulder-blades, back up.

“It’s okay that it did,” Schof’s voice comes out steady. Neutral. “I mean, it’s not something we’ve talked about. None of it is, really, so I mean. We were kind of bound to fuck up here, at some point.”

Zach swallows that, silent for a moment, and then apparently there’s more, because he chokes out, “It’s because you thought you had to take care of me after, isn’t it.”

Schof lets out a deep sigh. “I didn’t _have_ to, Zach. I wanted to. And I guess I was just thinking I didn’t want to… I don’t know, put that on you? That you had to get me off or something, like payback. That’s not what tonight was about for me. So I just took care of it myself, yeah, and I didn’t really think you’d…”

_Notice._

_Care._

Zach tucks his head down, even though Schof can probably feel how his shoulders have bunched up. He _shouldn’t_ care. It literally doesn’t affect him— No, not even that: it’s _better_ for him. Means he just got his rocks off with one less dick involved in the play. But somehow his brain refuses to take that, twisting it on its head like Zach _failed_ at this somehow, not getting Schof over the finish line with him, and Zach knows that the bitter edge at the back of his throat has nothing to do with being fair. Schof just _assuming_ that Zach wouldn’t give a shit about his pleasure is sitting like a lead weight in his stomach, tearing up his insides, and that’s stupid too because Schof was just being… his usual. _Considerate_.

“Well, I do,” he says tightly, still kind of frowning into Schof’s chest. “So. Now you know.”

“Yes. Thank you for telling me.” Schof rubs his back. “I can do better to—”

And Zach definitely can’t take _that_ , not on top of everything else.

“Don’t,” he says, sitting up to glare at Schof. “Don’t apologize. Fuck, you’re such a dick _all the time,_ but I let you get a hand on my cock and suddenly you’re gonna self-flagellate over _this_? Really? Schof, I didn’t bring this up so you could kick yourself. _You’re_ the one who likes talking about stupid shit like this, but I sure as fuck won’t be participating if it means you’re just gonna blame yourself for crap you can’t control.”

Schof is sort of half-smiling, but his eyes are serious when he meets Zach’s gaze. “Okay. No blaming myself for things that aren’t my fault, or aren’t mistakes to begin with.”

Zach nods. “Good.”

Schof catches his chin before he can lay back down. “And you too.”

Zach freezes. Fuck, giving himself away.

“You trusted me to make you feel good,” Schof says, thumb moving gently over Zach’s jaw. “It’s not _wrong_ for you to enjoy that. It’s not wrong for me to take care of you after, either, when that’s something that you can let me do. And it’s okay to be upset about the judgement call I made tonight. I made it without you, and it’s important that we talk about that. None of those are things you fucked up, or things you should feel guilty about, okay?”

Zach swallows. He can’t even bring himself to cough up a lie and get the topic over with, totally frozen.

“You don’t have to agree with all of it right now,” Schof’s thumb strokes gently up to his cheek. “But we’re definitely going to keep having conversations about the _stupid shit_ , because it’s stupid shit that we _both_ do, okay?”

Zach manages a nod, and after a second more unsticks his lips to say it.

“Okay.”

“Okay,” Schof smiles, more with his eyes than his mouth, scrunching up at the corners. Zach moves up the bed to put his head on the other pillow, and he doesn’t have to entirely let go of Schof to do it. Schof doesn’t let go of him either. Zach settles, and reaches out to trace the ridge of his collarbone with a finger.

“So. Was Kerfy in on it?”

Schof blinks at the non sequitur, frowning at him. It takes a visible couple seconds for him to get it.

“Oh fuck, Kerfy _wishes_ he was in on it,” Schof laughs, pressing his head back into the pillow, letting his whole body shake with it. “Unfortunately for him this just confirms that I am, indeed, a prank _God_.”

Zach shakes his head, cheek rubbing against the pillow. “Yeah, definitely keep calling yourself that. S’not embarrassing at all.”

Schof rolls into him, big hands low on Zach’s hips, his smile warm and close and amused. “Come on, like I didn’t get you _so_ good. If you could’ve seen your face when I turned around with my bag, shit, you practically had steam coming out of your ears.”

“Whatever,” Zach rolls his eyes. “You’re the one who owes Kerf a new cup now.”

“Worth it,” Schof declares, smug. One of his hands traces absently towards Zach’s spine. It’s kind of nice. Surprisingly not awkward, to be held so close to him like this, and not for any particular reason. Not leading to anything, not coming down; just resting. Zach puts his palm flat up on Schof’s chest; feels the steady breath moving there.

“Hmm. And just out of curiosity, how exactly did you know-”

“Ah ah ah,” Schof interrupts, entirely too pleased with himself. “Can’t go giving away all my secrets now can I? Hardly a master prank if anyone can do it.”

Zach presses closer, dropping his voice. “Come on, you can tell me. Promise I’ll keep it to myself.”

Schof grins back at him. His skin is smooth and warm under Zach’s hand. “Is this you playing dirty Zach? Not very sportsmanlike.”

“Mmmm,” Zach gets even closer. Leans his head down and presses a small kiss to Schof’s chin, then the soft edge of his cheek. Back towards his ear. “Is it working?”

Schof’s hands get a little firmer around his waist. His skin under Zach’s hand gets a little hotter. “Maybe. Keep at it and we’ll see.”

Zach laughs and relents, pulling back a little. Schof’s thumb strokes lightly over his hip, a gentle, mindless rhythm. He’s smiling, more in his eyes than in his mouth.

Zach kisses him.

It’s not a leading kiss. It is in fact very soft. A series of small kisses, passed back and forth between them. Zach’s right hand lifts to card through the short hairs at the side of Schof’s head, around the fragile seashell curve of his ear.

When he pulls back, Schof’s eyes are _delighted_.

“You’re always kissing me,” he rumbles, voice low and almost sweet.

“Yeah, well,” Zach ducks his head an inch, face heating. “You’re not too bad at it.”

“Good,” Schof says, so earnest, like he’s genuinely pleased to hear it. “‘Cuz I’m gonna want you to do it again.”

So ridiculous. Zach rolls his eyes, but he leans forward and acquiesces.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!! Comments/kudos are, as always, appreciated, and you can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/7sevener).


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